A Flame in Hali (35 page)

Saravio and Eduin attended Romilla in the solarium every day. Each time, the girl’s vitality improved. She laughed and played her
ryll
with a new level of enthusiasm and obvious regular practice. She grew less thin and the bruised look around her eyes disappeared. Eduin knew without asking that she now slept soundly, dreaming only a young woman’s normal dreams.

Despite the shortening days and gray skies of oncoming winter, the entire castle seemed to come alive. The kitchen buzzed with stories of romances and the smells of festive meals. Servants sang as they went about their duties.

Lord Brynon showered Eduin and Saravio with favors. When he feasted with his court, they were often seated on his right side. He presented them with fine horses, fur-lined cloaks, and knives set with jeweled hilts. Eduin accepted these honors on Saravio’s behalf, repeating that seeing Lady Romilla restored to health was all the reward they craved.

“Your brother Sandoval has done far more,” Lord Brynon said. “He has given Kirella back her hope.”

As one tenday melted into the next, the weather turned chill with the first intimations of the turning of the seasons.

The cook, who supplied Eduin with the specialized food he and Saravio needed for intense
laran
work, also presented him with the latest rumors. By the pattern of migrating birds and the roughness of the dogs’ coats, it would be a long winter. The old smith, not Jake but his father, retired now these twenty years or more and took up bad in his joints,
he
said the roads would be closed within the month. Eduin replied that he was not going anywhere.

“Some years, they all gather at Valeron for Midwinter Festival, His Lordship and all the kin,” the cook said as she laid out a tray for Eduin to take with him. “And a grand time it is, to hear tell of it, with all the high
Comyn
lords. Happen you two would go along. Everyone’s talking of all the good your brother’s done for the young mistress.”

“They won’t go this year, I don’t imagine,” Eduin said absently.

Perhaps the weather would, as the cook had indicated, turn foul enough to prevent the journey. If not, they might risk it. This did not alarm Eduin as much as it might. With Romilla’s improvement, his confidence in his disguise increased.

“There now!” the cook said as she finished assembling the meal.

She’d saved the best of the sweet pastries and a small savory pie, meat laced with nuts and dried fruits, simmered in wine, then baked under a flaky crust, and had wrapped it, still warm, in a thick cloth. There was also a half-round of bread and a pot of clotted cream, along with the usual beaker of watered wine. It smelled wonderful. Eduin had not eaten so well since his days at Arilinn. His belt was beginning to grow snug. He thanked her with genuine warmth and picked up the tray.

While they were speaking,
Dom
Rodrigo entered the kitchen. He wore his usual formal robes, his mouth pulled down in an expression of perpetual disapproval.

When Rodrigo noticed him, Eduin rose and bowed slightly. Since he had not grown up in court, he lacked the precise nuances that would turn the salutation into an insult. Meticulous politeness was quite sufficient. Despite Saravio’s success with Romilla, suspicion and jealousy still existed.

Rodrigo inclined his head in return, the insolent acknowledgment of an inferior. Perhaps, Eduin thought, the man was so sure of his position that he was simply waiting for the usurpers to be found out and summarily expelled. If so, let him think that, let him dream of his own reinstatement.

The cook wiped her hands on her apron and asked what the good doctor would have. Eduin gathered from the slight rise in pitch of her voice that this visit was unusual.

Oh, he needed nothing for himself. He had come to inquire after some feverbane, which was required for a patient. There was, Eduin reflected, no shortage of rheumatics and colic in the world.

Dom
Rodrigo bent over the bundle of dried herbs. He made his selection, wrapped it in a packet of oiled cloth, and took his leave.

The cook turned back to the hearth, where a pot hung from a hook over the banked embers. When she lifted the wooden lid, savory-smelling steam curled upward. The mingled aromas of meat, onions, and herbs evoked a sense of nostalgic comfort. Eduin paused with the tray still in his hands. A wave of something he could not name passed over his skin.

With a long-handled wooden spoon, the cook stirred the contents of the pot and, blowing across the surface, tasted it. She stood poised over the spoon, brow furrowed in concentration. Then she dipped it once more and offered it to Eduin.

He set down the tray and sipped the broth. It was rich and meaty, with a hint of sweetness from the browned onions. Yet the taste was subtly lacking.

“Needs rosmarin, don’t you think?” the cook asked, tilting her head to one side.

Eduin shrugged. He would have said salt, for that was the one cooking ingredient he could recognize. He had never prepared even the simplest dishes for himself, neither at any of the Towers he’d served at, nor in the slums of Thendara.

She bustled over to the open shelves where rows of stoppered pottery jars and glass vials stood in neat rows and selected one. Opening it, she peered in. Her nose wrinkled. “Ugh! Moths!”

She called out in the direction of the scullery, “Here, you! Liam!”

A half-grown boy appeared in the doorway, scrubbing brush in hand. His eyes grew round at the sight of Eduin.

“Ask
Dom
Rodrigo for the key to the still room and bring it back, quick as you can. He was here but a moment ago, so you can catch him on the stairs. Go on, now.”

The boy departed without a word. Eduin said thoughtfully, “How is it that the physician has a key to the still room and you do not?”

“Most of the time, it’s of little enough matter. I have my own supplies of whatever’s needful for cooking and simple remedies. Needlewort for burns, a sprig or two of feverfew, golden-eye for women’s troubles. Things we common folk can do for ourselves.
Dom
Rodrigo, he tends to the court. Mixes his own potions, all kinds of outlandish things. Powdered banshee beaks and elixir of dragonsblood, I’ll wager.” She laughed. “I don’t touch those things. I only take what I know, like the rosmarin.”

Two young girls, the strings of their aprons wound three times around their slender bodies, dragged in an enormous basket of sweet gourds and a smaller one of tiny green apples. The cook set them immediately to sorting and washing the baskets’ contents.

“
Domna
Mhari still has her key, I think,” the cook went on amiably as she picked over the apples. “Many an evening she’d be down there brewing up her own concoctions for when the young
damisela
was first took sick.”

“Yes? And when was that?”

“Oh, two or three years back, when my lady first grew out of being a little girl.”

Eduin remembered his own months of disorientation and nausea during adolescence. So Romilla, like so many others of her caste, had suffered threshold sickness. Perhaps her depression was a lingering effect, triggered by the intense hormonal and psychic upheaval. Mhari, as a trained
leronis,
would know how to distill
kirian
to ease the transition. The raw materials, dried
kireseth
blossoms, were psychoactive, and too dangerous to be handled by anyone untrained in the proper precautions. Locking the workroom made sense, and Eduin supposed it was also appropriate for a physician, who had his own preparations to make, to have a key.

Eduin frowned. Many things that could cure in one dosage could also kill. He wondered if Romilla’s illness could possibly have been made worse in that way, but he had never seen any sign of an external cause.

“Sweet thing she was then, I always said,” the cook chattered on. “It’s a pity things went so badly for her. But that has all changed now that your brother—Will you look at this!” She held up an apple, covered in black spots. “Ah well, no one has ever died from want of a second slice of apple tart, though there’s a few who’ll be wanting even the first before the spring comes again, I’ll wager.”

The scullery boy came back with the key. From his reddened cheeks and hanging head, Eduin guessed that the physician had not been gracious in lending it. The cook patted the boy’s shoulder, gave him an encouraging word, and bustled off to the still room.

Eduin carried the tray back to his chambers. Saravio was resting, just as he had left him. Saravio had the faintly absent expression that followed a long session. Eduin handed Saravio a plate of food and urged him to eat. Saravio picked at the pastry of the meat pie. Gaunt-ness still clung to him.

“You must replenish the energy you put out,” Eduin insisted. When Saravio still hesitated, he said in a firmer voice, “It is the will of Naotalba.”

He sensed rather than saw the shiver pass over Saravio’s thin shoulders. Then the other man bent to his meal with concentrated determination.

W
ithin the space of a tenday, winter clenched its fist around Kirella. Winds whipped across the open fields and tore the last few dry leaves from the hedgerows. Nighttime temperatures plummeted. Frozen rain fell like flights of arrows. The roads went from mud to ice. The little open market in the village lay deserted, although once or twice a farmer drove a cart to the castle to offer an extra barrel of apple cider or a slab of smoked meat in exchange for salt or metal needles, things he could not provide for himself. The shops and cottages seemed to shrink in upon themselves, hoarding the fruits of their harvest and waiting for the first deep snow. Suddenly, the winds fell away, leaving the air cold and still, expectant.

Romilla went out riding a few times with her father and returned rosy-cheeked and excited. Even when it was too cold to venture out, the solarium remained bright and warm. Half the castle ladies crowded in to hear their lady’s “special music.” More than once, Eduin overheard Romilla prattling about the possible journey to Valeron for Midwinter Festival, with all the delights of dancing and music, handsome young men and entertainments.

During this brief respite in the weather, a messenger arrived from Valeron. Within hours, the entire castle learned of his coming. Eduin, as usual, got a few additional details from the cook. She’d had it from the stableman who’d taken care of the horse that the beast had been pushed hard, nothing more.

Valeron.
Eduin turned the name over in his mind. He knew it was the principal seat of the Aillards and that, following family custom, it was ruled by a woman. The cook happily informed Eduin that the Lady was a force to be reckoned with, and her firstborn daughter, her heir, had inherited her temperament along with her rank. Lady Julianna Aillard ruled Valeron with an iron hand, enforced by her brother, Marzan, who was reputed to be a seasoned and ruthless general.

“Mark my words,” the cook said as she sent Eduin on his way with the usual tray of provender for Saravio, “there will be war come spring.”

With rest, good food, and the comfort of the palace, Saravio seemed to be strengthening. Slowly, he became less gaunt, and the hollows beneath his cheeks began to fill in. His eyes seemed more focused, his expression often one of interest instead of apathy. He spoke little and only to Eduin.

The day after the messenger arrived, Lord Brynon had still not made any official announcement. He remained secluded with his most trusted advisers.
Domna
Mhari was summoned to his private chambers for a time. Rumors thickened, each more dire than the one it followed.

Eduin kept his ears sharp for any hint of war with Isoldir or any mention of Varzil Ridenow. He contrived a few words with Mhari after a session in the solarium. Saravio had retreated to his chambers, as he usually did after a session.

She looked grave as she said, “My lord required me to cast truthspell, but what was said thereafter, I have given my oath as a
leronis
not to reveal.”

Eduin bowed, a gesture of respect. If he pressured her, it would only damage their fragile alliance. She clearly had regained much of her status.

“I would not presume to question matters that are none of my affair,” Eduin said, “but I would seek your counsel. I am not privy to Lord Brynon’s deliberations, nor do I have his ear. My brother . . .” He lowered his eyes and let his words trail off. “He is not exactly like other men.”

“Yes,” she responded with an indulgent nod that faded into a dreamy smile, “I had noticed that.”

“In addition to his other . . . abilities, he has the power to dream things that come to pass. I have seen this many times. In fact, it was one such dream that led us here to this very household. I knew he could help the young
damisela
because he had seen himself doing so in a dream. But perhaps you will think me foolish to believe so.”

“No, not foolish. Eduardo, or whatever your name is, you may be able to pass yourself off to everyone else as an insignificant commoner, but you cannot hide your true nature from me. I have trained in a Tower. I know you have
laran
. Why you seek to disguise yourselves is perhaps none of
my
business . . . but perhaps it is,” she paused, narrowing her lips, “if you intend ill to any person under this roof.”